


At The Round Table

by SR_XX



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Cancer, F/M, Happy Ending, Hopeful Ending, Hospitalization, Hospitals, I guess Merlin and Morgana as well but only briefly, Kidney cancer, Leukemia, Listen the only relationship that is explicit is Gwaine and Percival, Lung Cancer, M/M, Merlin doing his best, Nurse Merlin (Merlin), Pneumonia, Prostate cancer, Skin cancer, Terminal Illnesses, anyway, cancer ward, palliative care, so much cancer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:22:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25963549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SR_XX/pseuds/SR_XX
Summary: Merlin has a story, it is long and difficult to write, but he can do it if he just gets past the lump of grief dwelling in his throat.It begins with a young man who, upon choosing his path, has the opportunity to make a real difference to people's lives. He will learn what it means to be filled with hope and drained from everything except a cloying sadness. It ends with someone who has learned through practice how much a loved one weighs when they are drawing their last breath.And if it gives him a chance to get away from a tortured past? Then that's a bonus.
Relationships: Gwaine/Percival (Merlin), Gwen/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Morgana (Merlin)
Kudos: 2





	1. Prologue - Magic Writes A Book

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work in the Merlin fandom, I don't know how many of you are left out there still but hopefully you like this :)
> 
> Warning, read the tags, this has graphic mentions of hospitals and cancer from the very start.
> 
> \- Sharkie

Aithusa slinked her way onto the desk and padded over the keyboard again, pressing against boney fingers that were resting in the same position they had been when she last did this fifteen minutes ago.   
The keyboard seemed to reflect his thoughts at this point; a jumble of letters closely resembling the phrase ‘QSXDAQfcewhbrtoilyupppppppppppp’ which the tired author imagined was some forgotten language for ‘save me’.   
The man drew in a deep breath and, after brushing the cat aside, started tapping the backspace key more aggressively than was perhaps completely necessary.

It was safe to say he was overwhelmed; his thoughts were tumbling less than gracefully through the air around his shaggy black hair- that was way overdue for a cut- like a caged bird freed for the first time. The man couldn’t even grant himself a break, that type of thinking was the reason four months worth of work had amounted to nothing except his cat’s unwelcome reminder that he was wasting time. 

He tipped his head back, exposing his pale and scrawny neck, and sighed heavily. The weight of everything he had seen lifted a little from his shoulders at the thought of writing it out but it slammed back down as he spun in his chair sluggishly.

His apartment was a new build; a loft style flat with white walls and huge windows. There was a balcony he told himself he didn’t use because of the weather. In reality he knew he didn’t use it because the few times he had, watching the golden lights fill the blue sky like magic had only aided in making him feel insufferably alone.   
It had been bought with the intention of him and a good friend spending the rest of their days together, but now- the man shook off the thought before it had time to manifest properly. He didn’t have time to get lost in his grief again so soon to when he last escaped it. Blue eyes flit away from his half furnished apartment, heart aching at the nagging thought that it might never be the home he had intended it to be, so he turned to the glaring light from his laptop and set his fingers to the keys once more. 

Finally, he began to type.


	2. The Dragon's Lair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A family friend reluctantly tries to help someone he thought he had seen the last of.

“So, young master, you've brought me a book,” Kilgharrah Draig spoke, voice condescending but seemingly amused. He said it as if the idea was absurd, as if he were only humouring the boy. The word ‘master’ had always seemed to cut Kilgharrah’s tongue as he said it; like it left the foul taste of iron behind. Merlin had always found this ridiculous considering that no one had ever actually asked the man to call him master, but maybe it was too painful to call him by his last name when it only reminded Mr. Draig of his dad’s passing. 

Kilgharrah’s movements around his office were elegant. The man walked with the same power he had shown in every conference call and meeting Merlin had ever seen him in- his eyes seeming to barely restrain the fiery venom he could spit so easily when insulted.

Back arched forward slightly towards the ornate desk he was sat in front of and hands clasped together between his knees, Merlin nodded. He picked at the cuticle of his thumb before glancing up to meet the eyes of the man settling into the chair across from him. For a second he distracted himself from what he was trying to do by instead trying to figure out what colour his unofficial uncle’s eyes actually were; the light now seemed to make them look a golden green but when he was angry, Merlin knew from experience they felt as if they were absorbing the light around them they were so dark.

“And this book,” Kilgharrah started again, back straight and looking down to meet Merlin’s own plain blue eyes, “you wrote it? I thought you had no interest in working here Emrys, let alone becoming one of the people we boss around. You made that very clear to your father.”

Merlin clenched his jaw. Emrys. He chewed on the name for a minute, it was one of the few things his father had given him before he was nineteen and randomly reappeared in the boy's life to try and hand over his company; as if Merlin wasn’t on track for his own plans.   
The conversation where in he had informed Balinor that he wanted to help people, not sit in an office and scream at young artists all day, had not been a pleasant one but Balinor was quick to relent- even encouraging his son to carry on with his palliative care degree once he had finished his nursing degree.

Even after all of that, Kilgharrah had made it abundantly clear he hadn’t appreciated being second place to a boy his friend and boss had barely known, he would never let Merlin forget it either. So, to properly show his spite, he refused to call him anything but ‘Emrys’ when they were meeting like this. ‘Merlin’ was a name his mother had called him after, one week into his first year at nursery, she had been called in to discuss a fight and the boy had explained breathlessly he only dove in after the bully hit his friend. Merlin preferred it. The name was softer and protected him from having to spell it out for every teacher, barista or friend he had ever known.

In public, the new owner of the business was the picture of politeness. Kilgharrah was practically renowned for his good manners but in private- the younger man smiled as he looked at his shoes- it was kind of like what he had imagined having a proper family was like. Kilgharrah was rude but protective and clashed with his mother who was outspoken and warm, he himself eventually becoming a balance of detached fondness and blunt honesty.

“This is about more than me,” Merlin promised, faux confidently, laying one hand over the stack of A4 paper, bulldog clipped together, “this is about life and death, adversaries and- and taking control of your own destiny.”  
He stumbled over the last few words, tongue tripping in his mouth when his eyes brushed over his father’s friend’s own and they seemingly froze him. 

The man examined him through the lenses of the glasses perched precariously at the end of his nose, pulling the paper towards him which let Merlin’s hand slap the table loudly in the otherwise quiet room.  
Merlin looked back to his shoes, absently thinking that the frayed laces would need to be replaced soon, and listened to the sound of rustling paper and the older-than-middle-aged man's knuckles rapping against the desk in consideration.

“It sounds important.”

“It is,” the dark haired man replied instantly, all the breath forced from his lungs, “it’s the most important thing I think I’ll ever do.”

He said the last part quietly, momentarily subdued by the weight of men he could no longer hold in his arms. His eyes fluttered shut and he swallowed, willing away the tears that threatened to show Kilgharrah just how much this thing meant to him.

“Well young Master,” Merlin didn’t open his eyes even when Kilgharrah started to talk, he could already hear… something in the other’s voice that made him want to flee the room and abandon all hope of ever returning without ridicule. His emotions had his heart in a vice-like grip so it stuttered impatiently while he waited for his uncle to continue, he tapped out the unsteady rhythm on the arm of the chair he had sunk back into, “it seems I have quite a lot of reading to get done.”

The world immediately narrowed to him and his uncle. Merlin’s eyes snapped open. Blue and green locked onto each other and for a period of time neither spoke, Merlin would never be sure how long it took but the silence was eventually broken by the younger letting go of a breath he hadn't known he was holding.

“You’re a talented man, Emrys, you’d do well to remember it.”  
Kilgharrah lifted his head, giving himself an air of regality as he peered down at Merlin. He ‘hmm’ed for a second before glancing at his calendar and pressing a button on the stark white intercom system that sat on the mahogany desk, whilst he simultaneously shooed Merlin out the door without so much as a goodbye.

Merlin left the tall building, biting his lip until he reached a wide bridge over a river that was almost deserted of people. He glanced around and- when he was sure there was no one to startle- he whooped, beaming at the water and raising his fists to the purpling sky as if retreating from a fight victorious.

Kilgharrah Draig watched from the wide window built into his office. If his secretary saw the fond look in his eyes she was wise enough not to tease him for it at that moment. Taking a long suffering breath, the publisher situated himself back behind the desk and eyed the book warily. 

Slowly, like he was expecting something to leap out and hurt him, he peeled the title, contents, and dedication page off of the stack without giving them more than a glance and discarded them carelessly to the side; then, he started to read.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No particular notes this chapter, it will start to make more sense next chapter.   
> If this picks up any traction, I'll come up with a steady posting schedule.
> 
> Thanks for reading!  
> Please leave kudos and comments - even if it's just to yell at me!  
> My tumblr is @sharkswriting and my twitter is @sharkiesjaw

**Author's Note:**

> So, here I'm gonna quickly debrief that i tried to research all forms of sickness that i have talked about in this piece but at the end of the day, I am a creative writing student and almost failed all three of my science GCSE's.  
> My tumblr is @sharkswriting or my twitter is @sharkiesjaw  
> I thrive on kudos and comments - even if it's just to tell me I fucked up!!


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